


Beware, Beware, the Dragonborn Comes

by Autchet



Series: Song of the Dragonborn [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (it's more lowkey pining than anything but it's still pining), AKA Shiro has it bad for his housecarl please save him, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, He Didn't Ask For Any Of This, I mean I guess it could be a trigger but it does say "graphic depictions of violence", Keith gets a bit overprotective at one point, M/M, Not a lot though, Pining Shiro (Voltron), Platonic!Klance, Ralof is a good bean, Shiro's internal monologue gets pretty fucking cynical at times I'm sorry, Someone help Shiro, all Voltron characters in this fic are 20+, aside from character names, even though it says Keith/Shiro this isn't exclusively a sheith fic, heavy spoilers for Skyrim, may be some slight angst, not really any for Voltron though, please just let him rest, should i tag limb loss?, yes Shiro still has a zappy robot arm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:18:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10008341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autchet/pseuds/Autchet
Summary: (no, not THAT kind of "come", jeez, get your mind out of the gutter)Shiro was born and raised in Skyrim. After a few years' absence, he finds himself thrust violently (and unwillingly) into a bloody civil war, fighting a dragon, and saving the world from said dragon, among other apocalypse-bringing catastrophes. Someone please give him a break.(AKA: In which the characters of Voltron: Legendary Defender exist in Skyrim, because the author is a slut for AUs and hasn't seen a Skyrim one yet.)





	1. Not Today, Death!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! This is the first fanfic in several years I've actually written, but I'm pretty sure it's decent enough to post, so here we go! A few things to consider before reading: 
> 
> \- Although the relationship in this fic is sheith, it's not the main focus of the story, (at least not right now anyway) and will probably take a while to develop (slow burn, yay 8'D)
> 
> \- Their relationship might pick up a bit once Shiro gets partnered with Keith (Keith is his Lydia - for those who don't know Skyrim Lydia is a follower you can have in the game who helps you do stuff; she's kinda the first one you're introduced to) but for now it's just Shiro flying solo
> 
> \- I have several chapters written already, and I will try updating once a week after dumping the first few here
> 
> \- I tried my best to make it easy to understand if the reader has never played or at least heard of Skyrim, but be warned, there may be some references you won't understand, if you haven't
> 
> \- This fic will largely focus on Shiro and his POV; I will state at the beginning of the chapter if it's a POV change, but this one for the most part is only Shiro 
> 
> \- It's also un-beta'd (sorry) so there may be some errors
> 
> I think that's all ;o; hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it!

The _clip-clop_ of horse's hooves on stone and early morning sunlight shining onto his face had Shiro’s eyes slowly fluttering open. He looked to the left and right, finding himself in a wagon with three other men. The one farthest from him, gagged with cloth for some reason, was wearing a scowl on his face that said being captured was more of an inconvenience than something to be scared of. The second, dressed in rags, seemed equal parts afraid and irritated. The scenery surrounding them, all rocky mountains and tall pines, suggested they were still somewhere in Skyrim. It would’ve been nice to look at, had he not been bound - rather tightly, he noted as he felt tingling in his wrists - and travelling in a wagon driven by an Imperial soldier.

"You’re finally awake," A friendly voice shook him from his thoughts. The man who had spoken to him was dressed in blue and gray-- a Stormcloak cuirass. “You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us-- and that thief over there."

Shiro found himself having difficulty recalling exactly what had happened at the border, and if the throbbing in the back of his head was any indication, he guessed he’d been struck there, likely by the soldiers who had taken him. Why they had taken him, though, was still unclear. _I… I think I was coming home from Cyrodiil, but I can’t remember why I was there._ Oh well.

His eyes reflexively slid back over to the man in the rags. “Damn you Stormcloaks; Skyrim was fine until you came along,” the thief said, voice dripping with malice. “The Empire was nice and lazy; if they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.”

The thief met his gaze. “You there. You and me, we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

Before Shiro could reply, the Stormcloak spoke again. “We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief,” he said somberly.

“Shut up back there!” The soldier driving shouted suddenly, and a momentary hush fell over the wagon.

“What’s wrong with him, huh?” The thief eventually asked as he turned to the gagged man, voice significantly lower than before.

“Watch your tongue!” The Stormcloak soldier seemed not to care for the Imperial’s order, Shiro mused. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.”

“Ulfric… the Jarl of Windhelm?” The thief asked, tone distinctly surprised as he turned to the gagged man. Shiro found himself equally surprised, though the gag around the man’s mouth now made sense, at least. All of Tamriel had heard by now that Ulfric had murdered the High King of Skyrim using the Voice, an ancient and mysterious power some said originated from the dragons of legend.

“You’re the leader of the rebellion. If they’ve captured you… oh gods, where are they taking us?!” The thief asked, panic creeping into his tone.

“I don’t know where they’re going,” the Stormcloak replied, “but Sovngarde awaits.”

“No, this can’t be happening, this isn’t happening!” The thief raised his voice in alarm.

Shiro himself wasn’t quite sure how to react to the situation at hand, honestly. Of course he didn’t want to die, but he didn’t feel afraid, either. It was as though someone had assured him that everything would be fine. Who knows? Maybe someone had. His memories were foggy enough for that to be plausible.

“Hey,” the soldier said, voice low and somber as he turned to the thief, “what village are you from, horse thief?”

“Why do you care?” The thief asked bitterly, as though he still blamed the soldier for his capture. Well, to be fair, technically if the Stormcloaks hadn’t been in the area, both Shiro and the thief would likely be completely fine, but he’d call it more of an unhappy coincidence than anyone’s fault.

“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.” The soldier said quietly.

“Rorikstead; I-I’m from Rorikstead.” The thief stated. Shiro noted that the rag-clad man seemed to be trembling slightly, and he felt earnest sympathy, regardless of this oddly calm air that had settled around him.

“General Tulius, Sir. The headsman is waiting.” A soldier called from somewhere ahead of them.

“Good. Let’s get this over with.” The short, irritated, yet somewhat tired voice that replied, Shiro guessed, was the General.

“Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh; Divines, please help me,” the thief prayed frantically as they passed through the gates of the town they were being taken to.

“Look at him,” the Stormcloak spat, “General Tulius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves… I bet they had something to do with this.” A moment of silence, and then the soldier spoke again.

"This is Helgen; I used to be sweet on a girl from here.” Shiro couldn’t keep a small smile from briefly twitching his lips at the thought as the soldier reminisced. “I wonder if Velod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in.”

The quieter man took the opportunity to examine their surroundings as the Stormcloak spoke, noting the high, stone walls and towers surrounding the place. A few stood outside of their homes on porches to watch the executions-- something Shiro didn’t understand. _Why would anyone want to watch someone die?_

The man’s voice grew somber once more, a hint of bitterness to his tone. “Funny… when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.” Shiro winced when he heard a young boy from somewhere nearby asking his father who the prisoners were, and where they were going. The man only told his son to go inside, and though the boy protested, eventually he obeyed.

 _Good._ He thought. _No need to scar that poor boy._

The tiniest sliver of dread poked into his heart when he heard the soldier driving the wagon stop the horse. That weird, inexplicable feeling of reassurance was still there, but natural mortal instinct had him now a bit nervous, knowing what lay ahead.

“What’s going on? Why are we stopping?” The thief asked, shaking more visibly.

“Why do you think?” The Stormcloak responded. “End of the line.”

He then turned back to Shiro. “Let’s go,” there was a sort of… not confidence, nor excitement, but… something positive, in his voice. “Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us."

“No, wait! We’re not rebels!” The thief shouted on behalf of himself and Shiro.

“Face your death with some courage, thief.” The soldier scoffed.

“You’ve got to tell them-- we weren’t with you! This is a mistake!” Shiro’s face twisted in sympathy for the frightened thief as they stepped out of the wagon. He had a feeling that the Imperials wouldn’t care much for misunderstandings. Easier to just kill them all than take the time to work out who was who.

“Step towards the block when we call your name; one at a time!” A loud, angry female voice shouted.

The Stormcloak soldier he’d been riding with sighed heavily. “Empire loves their damn lists," he said as a soldier dressed in Imperial armor began calling names.

“Ulfric Stormcloak; Jarl of Windhelm.”

As the Jarl stepped forward, the soldier beside Shiro said, “it has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric."

“Ralof of Riverwood.” The soldier called, and the Stormcloak Shiro had become acquainted with stepped forward. _Well, at least now I know his name._

“Lokir of Rorikstead.” Upon hearing his name called, the frightened thief began to protest. “No, I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” Lokir took off, ignoring the Captain’s command to stop. Shiro was unsurprised when the man was shot down by an archer.

"Anyone else feel like running?” The Captain asked, tone dripping with something akin to frustration, but with more anger.

“Wait,” the soldier said as he turned his attention to Shiro. “You there. Step forward.” Shiro did as he was told, decidedly not wanting to end up like poor Lokir. “Who… are you?”

For the first time in forty minutes, Shiro spoke. “Shiro, of… well, I can’t really remember where I’m from.” ‘Since one of your soldiers clocked me on the head’ was left out, for fear of aggravating them. If they were questioning his identity, perhaps he would be allowed to go free?

“You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman,” the soldier said sympathetically. “Captain,” he turned to the woman beside him, “what should we do? He’s not on the list.”

“Forget the list,” she replied, “he goes to the block.”

 _I always thought the Empire was more reasonable than this,_ Shiro thought. _Maybe it’s just her_.

“By your orders, Captain,” the soldier beside her said. “I’m sorry,” he turned to Shiro, apologizing with a somber voice. “At least you’ll die here, in your homeland.” Shiro sighed, and followed the woman as instructed. That strange calmness came back to him again, as though this were merely a bad dream he’d wake up from soon. _I should be scared… so why aren’t I?_

“Ulfric Stormcloak,” The General addressed the rebellion leader as Shiro joined the group of soldiers to be executed in the courtyard. “Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne.”

The Jarl audibly grunted behind his gag in response, glaring at the General.

“You started this war; plunged Skyrim into chaos. Now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace.” Shiro wished Tulius wouldn’t sound so proud. Yes, Ulfric had started a civil war that had been ravaging his home during the time he’d been away, but twenty or so people along with himself were going to die today. Rebels or not, they were still people-- they still had families and friends who would mourn them and harbor even more hatred for the Empire. Regardless of whether or not Ulfric died today, the war would continue on, fueled by the fury of a thousand leaderless soldiers. Killing the Jarl would accomplish nothing, aside from avenging the High King. _Nothing more than spitefulness. I would’ve expected more tact from the Empire._

Suddenly, a loud, indiscriminate roaring sound emanated from the sky, calling all attention to the clouds. The Imperials thought nothing of it though, and decided to continue.

“Give them their last rites.” The Captain commanded a priestess standing beside her.

Raising her arms up, the priestess began, “as we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you-”

“For the love of Talos, shut up, and let’s get this over with.” A Stormcloak soldier boldly stepped forward, making his way to the block.

“As you wish.” The priestess stepped back.

“Come on, I haven’t got all morning.” The soldier snarked, and Shiro resisted the urge to smirk.  _This guy’s got some nerve._

The soldier was pushed to his knees, and onto the chopping block. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” Shiro couldn’t stop himself from shutting his eyes as the headsman swung his axe.

“As fearless in death, as he was in life.” Ralof sighed from beside him.

“Next, the Nord in the rags!” The Captain called, and Shiro stiffened when he realized that _he_ was the ‘Nord in the rags’. Then, again came that roaring from the sky-- closer, this time, and everyone looked to the heavens.

“Did you hear that? There it is again.” The soldier from earlier stated.

“I said, next prisoner!” The Captain shouted-- did she always shout everything she said?

“To the block, prisoner, nice and easy.” The soldier commanded, though he seemed none too happy about it. Perhaps he was the only one here with a conscience. Shiro sighed heavily.

There was no other option than to proceed to the block; running would get him an arrow in the back, like the thief from earlier. He wasted no time stepping up to it. No sense in delaying the inevitable. He was promptly pushed to the ground, over the rebel’s lifeless body, and with a sharp kick to his back forced forward over the block. He’d be lying if he said the sight of the severed head in the bucket in front of him didn’t make him a little queasy. _It’ll be over soon._

And that was true, wasn’t it? This ordeal would be over. His _life_ would be over. His friend whom he’d been visiting in Cyrodiil-- would he miss him? Would he ever know about his execution? He had no family here in Skyrim, no friends (that he could remember)... No one to know he was gone. He lay there, asking himself questions as the headsman, clad in armor made from the hides of animals and a black cowl covering his face, raised his axe.

The roaring came again, deafening and alarmingly close. A massive, black-winged creature soared into view, landing on top of the tower behind the headsman. The great beast’s weight on the ground caused it to quake, the headsman (among others) losing his balance and falling over.

“Dragon!” Someone shouted in terror at the sight of the thing.

 _Dragon?_ Shiro himself felt no fear, only confusion. _Aren’t dragons an old legend?_

The dragon opened its mouth, and with a powerful shout caused the sky to bend to its will. Fire began raining down from above, and with another shout Shiro found himself paralyzed, head knocking against the block as he was jostled by the force. His vision darkened, the screams from all around him muffling until all was quiet, and the only thing he felt was the throbbing in his head.


	2. Being Captured and Nearly Executed: $0. Being Saved By a Dragon: $0. Making it to Safety: an Arm and a Leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that price meme that actually started out as some kind of commercial? I miss that meme.
> 
> Or, alternatively, "May the Gods Be Ever in Your Favor". Either way, the title was going to be a silly. (I haven't even read The Hunger Games, I don't know why I made that reference.)

“Hey, kinsman, get up! The Gods won't give us another chance!” The voice of Ralof -the Stormcloak- called as Shiro’s vision returned. He dragged himself to his feet, still feeling the effects of the paralysis, and a little unsteady due to his hands still being bound.

“This way!” The soldier shouted as he turned and ran towards a nearby stone tower. Shiro followed without question, still dazed and a bit confused. _Where is the dragon?_

Flaming meteors plummeted to the ground around them as they made for the tower. Shiro side-stepped to narrowly avoid one as it crashed down beside him, and quickly ran in behind Ralof, who locked the door behind them. Inside, there were a few other Stormcloak soldiers taking shelter from the dragon's wrath.

The ground continued to quake even while inside. “Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?” Ralof asked, referring of course to the massive, black… thing that had attacked the town, and Shiro instinctively turned to follow Ralof’s gaze.

The Jarl, now unbound and free of the gag, replied, “legends don't burn down villages.”

_Well, he's not wrong. Although I guess I have this ‘legend’ to thank for my freedom._

Another furious roar came from above them. "We need to move. Now!” Ulfric shouted.

“Up through the tower; let's go!” Ralof sprinted up the winding steps, leaving Shiro to follow. He did so as best he could; with his hands in such an awkward position he was a little off-balance. _Wait… Where are we gonna go once we get to the top?_ If they went outside, it would be certain death. What the hell was the plan?

“This way, friend! Move!” Ralof called, just as they reached the midway point of the tower.

An injured Stormcloak soldier struggled to get to his feet, and in a split-second decision, Shiro tugged at his restraints hard enough to snap them, and leapt over to the soldier in an attempt to knock him out of the way of an incoming chunk of wall. Sadly, he wasn't fast enough; instead of saving the soldier, they were both trapped under the rubble. He howled in pain as a pile of stone crushed his right arm.

The dragon shot a bout of flames into the tower through the hole, which ironically enough, was blocked by the rubble that had injured him. Shiro struggled fruitlessly to free himself as Ralof rushed over.

“You alright, kinsman?!” The Stormcloak shouted over the chaos outside, kneeling down beside Shiro, who simply coughed when he tried to speak.“We've got to get you out of here,” he said as he attempted to lift the rubble. Ralof kept looking over his shoulder at the burning village, likely watching for any sign of the dragon. “Noble of you to try and save that man,” his voice was still loud so he would be heard above the noise, but held a strange softness to it, “but now you've trapped yourself. There's just too much of this to clear, and no time to clear it.”

“Go then,” Shiro urged. “I'll be fine.” Fine while he sat there in excruciating pain for Talos- knows-how-long until he perished, anyway.

“No,” Ralof shook his head.“There is a way to get you out. Though, you're probably not going to like it.”

“What is it then?” He hissed, without meaning to.

Ralof said nothing, merely raising his axe in response. The look on his face read, ‘sorry’.

_Oh._

The dragon roared again from outside once again, alarmingly close.

“Do it then. Quickly.” He resigned, shutting his eyes and sucking in a deep breath of dust-laden air, immediately coughing violently as it assaulted his lungs. _How much more painful can this be than being crushed, anyway?_

The answer to that question, it turned out, was _a lot_. He'd be damned if he ever tried to claim he hadn't screamed.

Ralof tore a flaming chunk of wood from the pile of rubble and pressed it to Shiro’s rapidly-bleeding arm directly after the amputation. He screamed louder, breathing heavy and forced as the heat cauterized the wound. The Stormcloak then grabbed him by his good arm and pulled him to his feet. “Alright,” he said as he pointed to a damaged building below them, “see that inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!” Near-execution, a dragon attack, losing an arm, _and_ jumping into a flaming building? What a fantastic day.

He did as he was told, just barely able to avoid the flames on the way down. Disoriented from pain and blood loss, he struggled to stay upright as he ran out of the inn and back into the street.

The sight that greeted him was… staggering. What had once been a quaint, quiet little town had been transformed into something resemblant of a warzone. Every building in site was crumpled and ablaze. Some small part of him wondered what had even provoked the big, scaly monster into attacking, but the part of him that demanded he focus on surviving was louder. And speaking of big, scaly monsters-- there was the dragon again, almost as though on queue, landing hard on the stone-paved ground and spitting fire from its maw as a group of civilians led by an Imperial soldier fled the area.

Shiro looked around for Ralof, concerned as to whether or not the rebel had actually made it out alive. Unfortunately, neither he, nor his fellows were anywhere to be seen. Feeling a stab of guilt at the fact that Ralof may have lived had the Stormcloak left him to die, Shiro chose to follow the Imperial through the ruined town. At least he seemed to know where he was going.

“Still alive, Prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way,” the Imperial commanded. He recognized this particular soldier as the same one who had tried to convince the Captain to set him free earlier. His ears rang with pain and white noise, but he heard the soldier say something about joining General Tullius and defense. Someone he didn't know replied, “Gods guide you, Hadvar.”

Hadvar was the Imperial’s name, then, Shiro’s brain vaguely registered. “Stay close to the wall!” Hadvar shouted as the dragon landed on top of it and poured more flame from its mouth. _Holy shit, does this classify as overkill yet?_ The entire village was already in ruins-- what more could the dragon be after?

Hadvar ordered Shiro to follow once again, and he did so without hesitation. At this point, he was tired, in pain, and probably close to passing out. No sense in arguing with someone who was trying to keep him alive. The Imperial led him into a large, open area, filled with soldiers attempting to kill the dragon. Shiro doubted they'd succeed, but at least they were trying.

“It's you and me, Prisoner, stay close!” Hadvar shouted. Shiro vaguely wished the man would stop calling him that. How he was able to have coherent, miscellaneous thoughts through the mixture of pain, fear, and confusion he was feeling at present was beyond him.

“Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!” Hadvar yelled as they entered the courtyard in front of the keep. Shiro flooded with surprise and relief at the sight of the Stormcloak, glad to see saving his life hadn't cost him his own.

“We're escaping, Hadvar! You won't take us this time!” Ralof shouted in reply. Their tones were riddled with bitterness, as though they had once perhaps known each other as children, and the war had torn them apart. I wonder how many other friendships this damned war has ruined? “Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!” The Imperial spat back.

Shiro, now unsure of who to continue following, was struck with a decision. They both seemed like decent men, but he knew very little about the war that plagued his homeland; he'd been gone for many years. The rebels supposedly had started the whole thing, and he had to admit, he did believe that a united Empire was probably in everyone's best interest, but then again… there was also the fact that the Imperials had nearly killed him without having even been involved. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, and made his choice.

Ralof had nearly sacrificed his own life to save his; the least he could do was try to return the favor by watching his back while they escaped. He somehow had the coherency to make a mental note to stay as far out of the conflict as possible.  _ Perhaps I'll go back to Cyrodiil… assuming I can even remember why I was there in the first place. _

Shiro followed Ralof closely behind, while simultaneously hoping that Hadvar had made it in safely as well. A single, dead Stormcloak lay on the floor of the large, circular room by a wooden table. Ralof knelt before the man to briefly pay his respects.

Shiro took this time of relative safety to really try and gather exactly what had just happened. He'd somehow managed to end up captured amongst a group of Stormcloak rebels, and had been sentenced along with them to death. A  _ dragon  _ had crashed the execution, allowing all of the prisoners (the ones who had survived its attack, anyway) to escape. He'd then lost his arm while trying and failing to save someone's life, jumped through the roof into a burning inn, had a brief moral crisis, and was now standing (presumably) safely in Helgen keep in the company of the rebel who had saved his life.  _ Wow.  _ He made a very conscious decision to not look at his missing arm.

“Looks like we're the only ones who made it.” Ralof observed in between deep, heavy breaths. “That thing was a dragon. No doubt. Just like in the children's stories and the legends; the harbingers of the end times.

May as well take Gunjar’s gear,” the Stormcloak said solemnly, “he won't be needing it anymore.”

Shiro reluctantly looted the dead soldier’s body, donning the new armor as swiftly as he could with only one arm. He hesitated before picking up the axe in his left hand, wondering how he was to use it when his dominant arm was gone. Experimentally, he swung it a few times with his left arm, surprised that it wasn't half-bad. How he'd fare against an actual opponent, though, was the true question.

“Damn, this one's locked,” Ralof cursed when he tried to open the western gate, “let's see about this one.” As he approached the eastern gate, a very loud, very  _ familiar _ female voice shouted from somewhere beyond it.

“Imperials! Take cover!” Ralof hissed, and Shiro pressed against one of the walls in response.

“Get this gate open!” The Captain shouted again, and the eastern gate slid downwards, letting the two Imperial soldiers in.

The soldiers, predictably, attacked. Shiro and Ralof made short work of them, and some part of him he'd rather not entertain felt a sliver of satisfaction as he watched the Captain who had sentenced him to death fall. He could never be  _ glad _ anyone was dead, but at least she wouldn't be able to execute any other innocent people now.

Ralof plucked the key to the western gate from one of the Imperials’ bodies and swiftly opened it, and Shiro followed him into the tunnel. As they turned a corner, dirt began to rain down from the ceiling, and the two stepped back just in time for a pile of rubble to crash to the ground before them, the telltale roar of the dragon signifying it had been the lizard's doing.

“Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easy.” The Stormcloak stated. Shiro simply nodded in agreement.

“Grab anything important, and let's move. That dragon’s burning everything to the ground.” An unknown voice commanded from behind a large, wooden door. Shiro kept his axe drawn just in case the source of the voice was hostile.

Two Imperial soldiers stood inside, and promptly attacked them upon entry. Again, Shiro had to kill to survive. He really hoped that wasn't about to become a pattern.

Shiro began to search the storeroom for supplies -namely potions- and returned to Ralof once he'd found what he had been looking for. The soldier opened another door and led the way down another network of tunnels.  _ I wonder how deep underground we're going,  _ Shiro thought as they pressed onward.

A shiver passed through him, the thinness of the Stormcloak armor he was wearing suddenly very apparent. The tunnels’ cold, stone walls and damp, musty air chilled him to the bone as what torches there were fastened to the walls provided little aside from pockets of light to guide them.

“Troll’s blood, it's a torture room!” Ralof exclaimed as they happened upon another underground room. They were once again greeted with an attack, but this time, they weren't alone-- another group of Stormcloaks had gotten there just moments before Shiro and Ralof. Once the attackers were dealt with, they spread out around the room and looked around for an exit.

Shiro shuddered as he took in the gruesome area. Three small, rusty cages lined the wall of the dingy, windowless place. A large, raised platform spattered with blood sat in the center, and a larger caged-off area with a desk and some supplies sat in the far corner. There were also a few small, hanging cages off to the side as well.

Ralof handed Shiro some lockpicks, and suggested he try and open the cages to retrieve their contents. “See if you can get this open with some picks; we may need that gold once we get out.” The rebel gestured to the center cage, where a recently-killed mage sat slumped against the wall.  _ More body looting… great. _

It wasn't at all that Shiro was a coward; he just  _ really _ didn't like killing people. He kept telling himself that there had been no other way; the Imperials were going to kill them otherwise, but it didn't help much. Looting their corpses left a foul taste in his mouth too, but it had to be done. They were carrying vital supplies.

Shiro approached the lock and realized dimly that you need two hands to lockpick. “Er… Ralof?” He called, and the rebel returned to the cages.

“Yeah?”

“I uh…” Shiro’s gaze flicked awkwardly between the cage and Ralof, and the soldier quickly understood.

“Right, I'm sorry. You're so good with that axe I nearly forgot you were missing an arm.” He laughed nervously, and picked the lock himself. The other Nord then picked up the items in the cage, and handed them to Shiro, who stashed them away for later use.

The way out was a rather narrow tunnel lined with three small cells on either side. Shiro shuddered again at the thought of being kept in one of those. At the bottom of a staircase, a large basin filled with burning coals for light and a few hanging cages sat. He tried not to think about the fact that one of the dead prisoners was reduced to nothing more than their skeleton.

“Better to stick together down here,” Ralof stated as they grouped with the other rebels from before. The man-made tunnels were at an end, and gave way to a natural cave system. Who knew what they would find in there?

The group started down the tunnel, Shiro following close behind the others. As they turned a corner, they came across a group of Imperial soldiers. By now, Shiro had easily lost count of how many times they'd had to fight their way through, and had no desire to try and figure it out. At this point, all he wanted was to get the hell out of there.

After dispatching the soldiers, they made their way to a drawbridge. With his good arm, Shiro pulled the lever to lower it, so they could cross. Behind them, the cave walls crumbled and crashed to the floor, blocking any hope of retracing their steps if they'd wanted to.  _ That's fine,  _ Shiro thought to himself,  _ let's just get out of here. _

Shiro and Ralof were now alone again, having been separated from the rest of the group by the cave-in. They pressed on, eventually coming to an underground stream. In front of them sat a skeleton, beside which there was a coin purse and a healing potion. Shiro took both, knowing he'd likely need them sooner or later.

The tunnels were small, cold, and, thanks to the stream, wet. Shiro was suddenly very glad for the boots he was wearing, which kept his feet dry.

They came upon a large room, filled with massive egg sacs and webs.  _ Oh great, spiders.  _ That was one thing Shiro knew he hadn't at all missed from home-- the dreaded frostbite spider. Several of them dropped down from above, ambushing Shiro and Ralof. It didn't take much to cut them down, but one of them did manage to get him with its fangs. Thankfully frostbite venom was rather weak, and didn't last long.

“Ugh, I hate those things. Too many eyes, ya know?” Ralof said as he brushed a stray web off of his cuirass. Shiro nodded in agreement, examining the bite wound that now adorned his left leg. It was bleeding, but not badly. The only good thing about frostbite venom, was that slowing your heart rate meant it also slowed blood flow.

Exciting what would now forever be known to Shiro as “The Spider Room”, they turned another corner and walked into a large cavern. The steam babbled steadily beneath them, cold, rock walls dripping with moisture. The only light source was a small hole in the ceiling.

“Hold up,” Ralof’s voice was no more than a whisper, “there's a bear over there. See her?” He pointed to the light source, which Shiro followed with his gaze. Sure enough, there she was, fast asleep.

“I'd rather not tangle with her right now,” he continued, and Shiro couldn't help but agree. He'd rather not fight a bear at all, key alone with only one arm. “Let's try to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow, and watch where you step. Go ahead. You take the lead, and I'll follow behind and watch your back.”

“Alright,” Shiro replied, dropping into a crouch and stepping in front of the soldier. He slowly crept forward, eyes flicking between the bear and the exit as he moved. Just as they were about to make it, the beast suddenly woke, warning them off with a mighty roar. Shiro swore he felt his heart stop as he fought the urge to freeze.

“Keep going, we're almost there.” Ralof encouraged, snapping Shiro out of his daze and prompting him to move the rest of the way.

“Phew, that was close.” The Stormcloak said, sounding as though he'd been holding his breath. Shiro noted to himself that he had, too. It was nothing short of amazing how coherent his thoughts still were, given everything that had happened thus far.

Accompanied by the sounds of the cave around them, and the occasional roar from the dragon above, the pair continued. A bright light greeted them, and Ralof exclaimed, “that looks like the way out. I knew we'd make it!”

Shiro breathed a sigh of relief as they finally exited the cave.  _ Thank Talos.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha, get it? Arm and a leg? I'll uh... I'll shut up now.


	3. (Space) Skyrim Dad Finally Rests: The Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every chapter title is just going to end up being the opposite of serious, isn't it?

After the dimness of the cave system, the brightness of the sun was temporarily blinding. Judging by its position in the sky, they'd been in there for quite some time. It felt ridiculously good to breathe in fresh air after the dingy caverns, Shiro mused as he blinked the light out of his eyes.

Just then, the flapping of wings and telltale roar of the dragon had them both ducking for cover as the beast flew into view. It was massive; covered in sharp, black spines and announcing its presence proudly to the heavens.

“There he goes,” Ralof said as he cautiously stepped out onto the path. “Looks like he's gone for good, this time.” Something in the back of Shiro’s mind doubted that, but he merely attributed it to the pain, exhaustion and confusion that were swimming around in his head, full-force now that the danger had seemingly passed.

“No way to know if anyone else made it out alive, but this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough. We'd better clear out of here.” The rebel declared. No time to allow the distraction consume him, then.

“My sister, Gerdur, runs a mill, just up the road, in Riverwood. I'm sure she'll help us out.” Ralof said as they made their way down the stone path. “It's probably best if we stick together for now; you definitely look a little worse for wear.” He observed the way Shiro was limping from the spider bite.

Did he really look that bad? _Well, I am missing an arm and covered in blood._ That'd do it. “Alright,” he said, trying to veil the exhaustion in his voice.

“You know,” Ralof said as they traveled, “you should head to Windhelm, and join the fight to free Skyrim. You've seen the true face of the Empire here today.”

While it was true that he had nearly been executed for no reason, Shiro really wanted to believe that the Empire wasn't wholly unreasonable, like the Captain had been. They had ruled Tamriel for hundreds of years-- surely they weren't _all_ tyrannical, right? Even Hadvar, the Imperial soldier from earlier, had seemed displeased with the fact that the Captain had unnecessarily sentenced him to death. Still though, Ralof had seen much more of this civil war than he had.

“I… I don't know,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. Perhaps it was the mix of injury and tiredness that had caused him to slip up and voice his thoughts. “I feel almost as though I haven't seen enough of the conflict yet to make any kind of decision.” The way Ralof looked at him prompted him to continue. “Besides that-- I'm not much of a fighter. As far as I can remember, today was the first time I've ever actually killed people.” ‘It didn't feel very good’, was left out, but still hanging in his mind.

The rebel smiled. “I had you figured for a soft heart, friend. Though I do believe that you're capable of more than you may think.”

“Maybe…” Shiro trailed off, pausing for a moment to listen to the birds and crickets singing in the forest around them. “I don't know how much use I'd be with just one arm, though.” He half-joked. To be honest, he had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to do _anything_ , anymore. Near everything required two hands to do. How was he to hold his own?

“About that,” the soldier interjected, “I'm sorry. If there had been another way-”

“No. You saved my life, Ralof. If it weren't for you, I'd still be trapped in that tower.” Shiro cut him off with sincerity.

Ralof smiled again. “We both helped each other. Without you, I may not have made it out of there, either.

Say… What's your name, friend?” The Stormcloak asked.

“Shiro.” He replied, smiling softly.

“Shiro…” Ralof repeated the name, as though turning it over in his mind. “Sounds powerful.”

Shiro laughed, for the first time in what seemed like forever. “I don't know about powerful, but thank you.”

Comfortable silence fell between the travelers for a while, until Ralof spoke up again. “See that ruin up there?” He gestured to the mountains across the river.

Shiro nodded, following his gaze. The ruins sat at the top, ominously glaring down at the river below. He didn't even want to begin to wonder what lay within them.

“That's Bleak Falls Barrow. Never understood how my sister could stand living in the shadow of that place.”

There were places like that all over Skyrim-- he remembered that much about his homeland, at least. He also distinctly remembered his mother telling him over and over as a child never to wander into them. “I guess you get used to it?” He offered.

“I suppose so,” the rebel replied, sounding lost in thought.

Silence returned, but only for a brief moment, before they came to a cluster of large, smooth stones. “These are the Guardian Stones, three of the thirteen ancient Standing Stones that dot Skyrim’s landscape. Go ahead, see for yourself.” Ralof gestured toward them, and Shiro stepped to the platform curiously.

He'd heard about these stones; ancient, magical relics that were connected to the stars themselves. On each, there was a carving. To the far left, an image of what appeared to be a thief. In the center, a wizard. The final stone bore an image of a warrior.

He approached the Warrior Stone and gingerly laid his hand upon it, jerking back when the carving at the top suddenly lit up, a column of light shooting to the sky. His hand burned as an image of the Warrior constellation appeared over the Warrior carving, though not unpleasantly, and he began to feel a strange power surge through him. _What the hell was that?_

“The Warrior; good. Those stars will guide you to honor and glory.” Ralof seemed to approve of his decision. Shiro had simply supposed that he could use all the help he could get, missing an arm and all.

The two kept moving at a fast, but not uncomfortable pace after that. Whatever the stone had done seemed to have helped ease Shiro’s exhaustion a bit, which he was quite grateful for.

“Now, remember, this isn't Stormcloak territory. If we're ahead of the news from Helgen, we should be fine, just as long as we don't do anything stupid.” Ralof warned as they neared the village. “If we run into any Imperials, just let me do the talking, alright?”

“Alright.” Shiro agreed.

Suddenly, two huge, black wolves ran at them from within the forest. Shiro unsheathed his axe and prepared to fight once again, but Ralof took both of them out swiftly before he could assist. “See, this is why I thought it'd be better to stick together," Ralof laughed. Shiro gave the soldier a grateful look, and the two wordlessly continued.

“I'm glad you decided to come with me,” Ralof said. “We're almost to Riverwood.” Rejuvenation at the hand of that stone aside, Shiro truly was grateful that they were nearly there. They'd both be able to rest now, for a while.

As they passed through the large, stone gate and into the village, Shiro heard an old woman going on about how she'd seen the dragon. A young man -her son, presumably- tried to get her to quiet down. Shiro couldn't help but smirk at the amusing sight before Ralof led him across a wooden bridge, to the lumber mill.

The rushing water and the cranking of pulleys heaving massive logs into the sawmill quickly drowned out any other noise as they walked around to the back. A woman in a green dress stood before them, and Ralof called out to her. “Gerdur!”

“Brother! Mara’s mercy, it's good to see you. But… is it safe for you to be here?” She responded, approaching the pair. “We heard that Ulfric had been captured…”

“Gerdur, I'm fine.” Ralof sighed. “At least, now I am.”

“Are you hurt? What's happened?” Gerdur asked, looking the both of them over. Shiro tried to ignore the way her eyes caught on his missing arm. He was going to have to get used to that. “And who's this, one of your comrades?”

Before Shiro could introduce himself, Ralof responded, “not a comrade yet, but a friend. I owe him my life, in fact.”

He chose this time to interject. “You saved my hide too back there, Ralof. You don't owe me anything.”

Ralof chuckled. “If you say so, Shiro.” He turned back to Gerdur. “Is there somewhere we can talk? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials…”

“Helgen? Has something happened?” Ralof gave her a look that said ‘not now’, and she resigned. “You're right. Follow me.”

“Hod, come here a minute! I need your help with something.” Gerdur called out toward the mill.

“What is it, woman? Sven drunk on the job again?” A male voice, likely Hod, responded.

“Hod, just come here.” She said, sounding as though she was losing her patience. Shiro briefly wondered what kind of relationship Ralof's sister had with her husband.

“Ralof!” Hod exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Ha… I'll be right down!” Shiro turned to the source of the voice to see a man clad in work clothes waving from up in the mill.

Gerdur led Shiro and Ralof to a little grassy clearing on the property. It was surrounded by tree stumps, and one, lone pine tree close to the water. Feeling tired, he decided to seat himself on one of the stumps, glad to be off of his feet.

Just then, a little boy dressed in a red shirt and blue pants came running up, a large dog following close behind. “Uncle Ralof! Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know _Ulfric Stormcloak?”_ Shiro suppressed a chuckle at the boy's excitement.

“Hush, Frodnar, this is no time for your games.” Gerdur tiredly told her son. “Go and watch the south road; come and find us if you see any Imperials coming.”

“Aww, Mama, I wanna stay and talk with uncle Ralof.” He protested as the dog sat down beside him.

“Look at you, almost a grown man! Won't be long before you're joining the fight yourself.” Ralof provided his nephew words of encouragement. The boy was decidedly far off from adulthood, but, the praise seemed to have worked.

“That's right! Don't worry, uncle Ralof; I won't let those soldiers sneak up on you!” Frodnar exclaimed, running off to his ‘post’. The dog gave a couple of friendly barks, as though in greeting, and then took off behind him. Shiro watched and smiled quietly, wondering what it must be like to live peacefully like Gerdur’s family did.

“Now, Ralof, what's going on? You two look pretty well done-in.” A man of average height with long, light hair and pale blue eyes asked as he approached them. Shiro recognized the worker's clothes from before, and gathered that this must be Hod.

Ralof sighed heavily, “I can't remember when I last slept…” As he paused, as though considering how to continue. Shiro couldn't help but note that he couldn't remember his last sleep either. That was more than likely due to his recent head injury, though. “Where to start? Well, the news you heard about Ulfric Stormcloak was true-- the Imperials ambushed us outside Darkwater Crossing, like they knew exactly where we'd be. That was… Two days ago, now.”

 _Two days? There's no way I was unconscious for two days. I must've faded in and out._ Ralof’s recollection was providing him with information as well.

“We stopped up in Helgen this morning, and I thought it was all over. Had us lined up to the headsman’s block and ready to start chopping.” Shiro shuddered as he thought back to the sight of the beheaded soldier, and the headsman raising his axe to send him to Sovngarde along with him.

“The cowards!” Gerdur spat, voice dripping with disgust.

“They wouldn't dare give Ulfric a fair trial. Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would've seen the truth, then.” That was true; just as Shiro had thought before, killing Ulfric would've solved nothing. A much better strategy would've been to take the forts and holds that the Stormcloaks had in their territory, to weaken his influence first. Shiro may not possess the desire to involve himself in war, but his had always been a strategic mind.

“But then, out of nowhere, a _dragon_ attacked.” The words fell from the rebel's lips as though he, himself could barely believe what he'd witnessed. Shiro couldn't help but agree.

“You don't mean a real, live-” Gerdur started, in disbelief.

“I can hardly believe it myself-- and I was there.” Ralof cut her off. “As strange as it sounds, we'd be dead if it not for that dragon. In the confusion, we managed to slip away.”

 _I' wouldn't really call it confusion._ Shiro thought quietly. _More like chaos._

“Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?” The soldier asked, something akin to surprise in his voice.

“Nobody else has come up the south road today,” Gerdur answered, “as far as I know.”

“Good. Maybe we can lay up for a while.” Shiro noted that Ralof sounded just as exhausted as he was. “I hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur, but…”

“Nonsense. You and your friend are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Let _me_ worry about the Imperials.” She then turned to Shiro. “Any friend of Ralof’s is a friend of mine. Here's the key to the house-- feel free to take anything you need.”

“Thank you,” Shiro smiled, taking the key into his left hand and slipping it into his pocket.

“There is something you could do for us here; for _all_ of us here.” She said, earnestly. “Send word to the Jarl that there's a dragon on the loose, get him to send more troops here.”

Although the promise of a safe place to rest was very, _very_ tempting, Shiro nodded in agreement. He'd been at Helgen; he'd be the best person to inform the Jarl of the danger to his Hold. “Alright.”

“Thanks, sister. I knew I could count on you.” Ralof said gratefully.

“I ought to get back to work before I missed, but… did anyone else escape? Did Ulfric…?” Gerdur asked, a hint of worry lacing her voice.

“Don't worry, I'm sure he made it out. It'll take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak.” Ralof replied, with confidence.

“I'll let them into the house, and show them where everything is,” Hod piped up.

“Hmm… Help them drink up our mead, you mean.” Gerdur teased her husband, then turned back to Ralof. “Good luck, brother. I'll see you later.”

“Don't worry about me; I know how to lay low.” Ralof assured his sister.

Shiro stood up from the stump, and followed Hod to the house. The sun was beginning to set, he noted. Perhaps he could rest here after all, and travel to the Hold capital in the morning, when he was less likely to be jumped by bandits or wolves.

They entered the house -a quaint, decent-sized home- and the first thing Shiro noticed was that he was _warm._ After all that time spent underground, and then above subject to Skyrim’s naturally-chilly air, being inside and close to a fire was really nice. _My time in Cyrodiil must've spoiled me,_ he chided himself, _I'm not as used to the cold anymore._

He made his way over to one of the vacant beds, and sat down on the side of it. Gerdur, who had just stepped inside, approached him with half a loaf of bread and a slice of goat cheese. “You should eat something before you sleep,” she said, setting the plate down on the end table beside him. She then walked over to a counter and retrieved a tankard of mead, which Shiro gratefully accepted.

“Thank you, ma'am.” He smiled, taking a swig from the cup. Gerdur simply nodded, and went to tend to her brother.

It was at this point, Shiro remembered the few healing potions he'd taken from the keep. He put the tankard down on the table and fished through his bag for a potion, letting out a triumphant little “aha” when he found one. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth and prepared himself for the nasty taste; most potions were made from ingredients one usually wouldn't consider consuming. Shiro was no alchemist, mind you, but he did know a few basic recipes, like combining raw wheat and mountain flowers for a healing potion.

He decided the best course of action would be to just chug the whole thing as fast as possible. When he was finished, he placed the empty bottle down on the end table and picked up the tankard, pausing first to let the potion take effect before washing the godsawful taste out of his mouth. A quick glance down at his injured leg told him it was working, as he watched the skin begin repairing itself, and the ache from his arm began to dissipate. Unfortunately, there was no potion in the world that would give him a new one, but he decided it would be best not to dwell on that now.

After eating and finishing his drink, Shiro laid back in the bed, still wearing the Stormcloak’s cuirass. Before long, surrounded by safe, stone walls and new friends, he fell asleep.

That night, Shiro dreamed of dragons. 

**Author's Note:**

> (Yes, I did restart the entire game just to jot down important dialogue and scene descriptions.)


End file.
